


upon this rock (my house shall stand)

by sweetwatersong



Series: dare seize the fire (Strike Team Delta) [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Compliant, Strike Team Delta, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 21:08:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3183236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetwatersong/pseuds/sweetwatersong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they brought Coulson back to life, it made him something - different. Maybe the only human parts of him left are the two agents who won't let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	upon this rock (my house shall stand)

"I'm not human anymore," Coulson says, the words just above a whisper. "That doesn't bother you?"

Natasha considers him for a minute, her expression soft, then brushes her fingers over his sweat-soaked hair.

"Someone once gave me a chance to become more than a broken, inhuman girl. Why should it bother me?"

And it's the black and white security footage all over again, watching Romanoff accept and support another man without any reservations, any hesitations about his heart. She had one-upped a god, coaxed in her worst nightmare, and held together a group of disparate strangers to bring Clint back home; to know that courage is linked to him as well should be terrifying.

It says a lot about Coulson's life that he finds it reassuring instead.

So he swallows, throat closing, and simply accepts her touch and the comfort she offers with it. They stay like that for long minutes, wrapped in the peace of the moment.

"You're going to lose a lot of friends if this gets out," Natasha says softly, bringing up a truth he already knows. As though she feels she has to warn him, prepare him for a future he saw as soon as he learned what he is – what he isn't. "You're going to get a lot of enemies. But you'll always have us."

And in that reassurance, that simple truth, Phil finds solid ground to stumble onto.

"Thank you," he murmurs, the war ahead of him suddenly manageable, survivable, a center pulled back into his world. She smiles, affection in her eyes, and leans forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"Of course."

And he isn't crying, he hasn't cried since Aunt Diana died and left him alone in a world made strange again, but something trickles down his face when he closes his eyes to draw on the strength Natasha is offering him. Her exhale is soft on his skin, fading as she shifts away – then the carpet rustles and there's contact on his leg, his arm, and she is settling herself against his side, fitting into his slumped lines.

With a conscious effort Coulson lets himself ease into the support she offers, the arm around his waist, the head tipped against his. It's the simple act of giving comfort and receiving it; of not being alone.

There's a quick sequence of knocks on the door before it opens with the sound of Clint's boots scuffing on the 'Welcome' mat.

"That's three hot coffees with a shot of 'What did I miss' because last thing I knew, Romanoff, I was your only snugglebunny."

"He gives me something you never could," Natasha shoots back lazily while Coulson opens his eyes to see Barton setting the cardboard tray on the counter, adding a crinkling bag.

"What's that, a good yearly review? Really, 'Tasha, I'm hurt. Deeply hurt." He unlaces his boots with quick motions, slipping them off and deliberately leaving them by the island rather than the entryway where Natasha and Coulson's own shoes sit.

"You usually are," Coulson says dryly, and Clint tips his head back and laughs as if the world hasn't ended, as if everything hasn't changed.

Maybe it hasn't.

The archer shakes open the paper bag, rummaging inside until he pulls out a Danish and, grabbing a napkin, pads over to them. With a boneless sprawl he picks a spot on Coulson's other side, his ass thumping onto the carpet in one of his trademark undignified moves. The offer of the pastry and accompanying napkin are made in silence, but Coulson catches his questioning gaze and holds it while he accepts.

"So," Barton says, "you figure things out?"

"Don't you mean, 'you two'?" He asks in reply, the sugary glaze on the pastry coating his fingertips.

"Nope. Nat and I have always known where we stand," Clint answers with an easy confidence, and Coulson can't take a bite because his throat tightens, threatens to catch his breath. Clint frowns, familiar lines appearing in his brow, and looks at him with his hands dangling off his knees, relaxed.

"You knew that, right?"

"He had some momentary doubts," Natasha informs him from Phil's side, and there is nothing mocking in her tone.

"Well, shit." Barton looks dumbfounded for a moment, caught completely off-guard. Before Coulson can try to say something, can try to fix it, the archer pulls his legs underneath him and rocks onto his knees, head ducking so he can look up at him. "You've always got us, Coulson. Whatever else happens, whatever the fuck Fury or the Avengers or the rest of the world say, we're with you all the way. Fuck 'em. You're more important." It's a statement, it doesn't need an answer at all, but there's a tentative note in his voice, an injured undertone that makes it all into a question.

"I know," he replies, the only thing he can say, and isn't surprised to find that it's the truth. Really, if he is honest, he's known all along; it was only the thought of bringing them down with him that stopped his faith, stalled his voice. "I know." And the relief in Clint's gaze is worth the admission.

"See?" Natasha murmurs, voice thrumming through her bones into his. "I told you."

"Only because Barton was otherwise occupied," he tells her, and she grins, cat-like, against his shoulder as her partner snorts.

"So we're good then," Clint says, reaching out to snag half of the Danish as he relaxes into a sitting position again, this time sandwiching Coulson against Romanoff. Coulson starts to object to the theft until Barton tears a chunk off, munching on it as he offers an apple-coated piece to Natasha. She accepts the offering neatly, opening her mouth so Clint has to lean over Coulson to feed it to her. Then Phil gives him a dry look and asks where his piece is, which starts Natasha laughing low and contentedly against his side. In the warmth of the moment, tucked between his two agents and bolstered by their acceptance, kept afloat by their support, he starts to believe that everything might be okay. Like his inhuman body, it might never be the same - but then again, his is a world of shadows and spies and superheroes. It's never been normal anyway.

When all is said and done? He can live with that.


End file.
